A sobering journey

Robert Downey Jr. zigzags his way back to desirability

Robert Downey Jr.'s eyes burn darker in person than on-screen, and his words come out in torrents, seemingly unedited, from somewhere deep inside.

He's not a prepared-sound-bite kind of guy, though you might not blame him if he were. Few celebrities have had to lick their wounds as publicly as he has. Then again few celebrities have plopped Goldilocks-like onto a bed in a random house or done prison time for drug violations.

So his spate of publicity for his new "The Singing Detective" could have been your standard atonement tour: Celebrity offers gift-wrapped comments about his past troubles and current clean-and-sober state, then gets down to the business of film promotion.

Downey's mind doesn't work that way. It's far more spontaneous, funny, sharp and free-associating -- a whirling thingamabob firing on many cylinders at once.

So a movie-related conversation veers into an analysis of post-Baby Boomers' global/cosmic responsibilities, which opens the gate for this train of thought:

"I didn't know this until a couple of days ago: Sikhs only have one kid -- unless they have twins, in which case they capitulate; they don't get all Spartan about it," the 38-year-old actor said. "They only have one kid because it's a divine responsibility to care for just one human life. I think it's great that [Mel] Gibson has a slew of kids, but there's something to be noted in that principle, you know? There's also something to be noted in maybe not wearing [expletive] white for the rest of your life. And there's something to be noted in wearing white for the rest of your life. It's just a little extreme."

The interview took place in two stages. In part one he was seated at Shaw's Crab House, stripped down to a black tank top, his muscular shoulders each boasting a prominent tattoo: "Indio," the name of his 10-year-old son (by ex-wife Deborah Falconer) on the right; "Susie Q," a tribute to live-in girlfriend Susan Levin, on the left.

Achievement award

The previous night Downey had received the Chicago International Film Festival's career achievement award; there was a presentation ceremony followed by a screening of "The Singing Detective," Keith Gordon's movie remake/condensation of Dennis Potter's six-part BBC-TV series about a mystery writer suffering musical hallucinations and depression while hospitalized for a severe case of psoriasis.

The movie went over well, and as Downey enjoyed a perch lunch, he was feeling upbeat. "I'm definitely surprised," he said. "I always suspect what usually happens, which is a lot of effort and then zero payoff."

In terms of the movie's quality or reception? "Both," he said. "One feeds the other."

The ensuing conversation was a freewheeling journey into Downey's psyche as he explored his years of unshakable pessimism, desperation and self-destruction -- a period he said ended not with his recent return to sobriety or work but his finding a supportive yet stern life partner in Levin, who produced "Gothika," a thriller (which opens Friday) in which he has an understated supporting role.

In his searing self-analysis, Downey displayed a characteristic that drives his acting: the sense he's being fully honest as he taps into a deep well of emotions with no apparent effort.

"He's very transparent in a way that I think is very endearing, and I think it's part of what's so great about his acting," Gordon said in a phone interview. "He'll play these characters who on the surface may keep people at a distance, and he's so transparent that you see the emotion underneath."

Alas, when the lunchtime conversation reached a natural pause point near the end of the meal, the reporter checked the tape recorder for a second time and found that something resembling Lou Reed's "Metal Machine Music" had taken over, leaving only a few audible minutes before a high-pitched buzzing abruptly drowned out everything. (At first Downey thought the culprit might be his magnetic neck pendant, made from a Chinese alloy meant to fend off radio signals.) No matter. Downey believes everything happens for a reason, so he immediately offered to try again on the phone. About a week later he was spending another hour diving into his past and present with equal fearlessness, though from different angles.

But he prefaced this, his final "Singing"-related interview, by saying, "This is my last tour de force of the past. In a way I was obliged to [talk about past troubles] because it's kind of my first thing out of the box since being out of the box, really, so there was a certain sense of deformed obligation. But that's it, dude. I'm done."

He spoke while wheeling a "little green chair" around the small Hollywood apartment into which he and Levin were moving.

"Everything in this room looks like the kitchen scene from `Poltergeist,' and it's cool," Downey said. "We're in the middle of this chaotic shift into simplification, and it's really interesting. It doesn't have to be stressful.